


Lay Me Down

by bashert



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Post "Contempt", post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 18:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2702489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bashert/pseuds/bashert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She doesn't even cry when she slides into a t-shirt of Will's to sleep in, the same one he had worn only the night before. It smells like him, and she buries her nose in the fibers, and closes her eyes.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Post-"Contempt"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had a lot of feelings to work out. And this was my attempt to work some of those out. Spoilers, of course, for "Contempt" if you haven't watched it yet. The title comes from the Sam Smith song, and that's about all. Thanks to Emily for reassuring me that even if it was hastily written, it still was post-able.

_You told me not to cry when you were gone_  
 _But the feeling’s overwhelming, it's much too strong_  
 _Can I lay by your side, next to you, you_  
 _And make sure you’re alright?_  
 _I’ll take care of you_  
 _And I don’t wanna be here if I can’t be with you tonight-_ Sam Smith

* * *

 

Her first night as a married woman she spends in a cold, empty bed.

She doesn't cry when they take Will, leading him out of the building and away from her.

She doesn't cry as Charlie claps a hand into her shoulder, and says,

"What do you say to a drink, Mrs. McAvoy?"

She doesn't cry as Sloan brings out her wedding cake with a cupcake on top that Sloan plucks off and assures Mac,

"We'll freeze it. For Will."

She doesn't even cry when she slides into a t-shirt of Will's to sleep in, the same one he had worn only the night before. It smells like him, and she buries her nose in the fibers, and closes her eyes. She thinks it's a hell of a way to start a marriage.

She _does_ cry when she wakes up a few hours later. When it hits her that it's her first night as a newlywed and they're spending it apart. When she thinks about how she has no idea of how _long_ they're going to be apart. When she thinks of Will in that jail cell, and her in their bed, and how easily it could be reversed.

(And she cries harder when she thinks of Will's face when she told him that she knew the source. She hadn't planned on telling him, knowing that it would throw him into a blind panic, but it had slipped out. But they're married now. There's spousal privilege, which at least eased the worry lines in Will's face ever so slightly. She doesn't want him to be worried about her when there are such bigger things to worry about.)

Mac stumbles out of bed (what's passing for a bed, at least), swiping at her cheeks and heads towards the living room, dropping down onto the same place she and Will sat only the night before (and God, did it feel like it had been far longer than just the night before).

Maggie and Tess had pressed two bottles into her hands as she left to return to her lonely apartment. A champagne bottle and a bottle of Jameson.

"The champagne's for when Will gets home," Tess explained.

"The whiskey is for tonight," Maggie added.

They offered to come home with her, so she wouldn't have to spend her first married night alone. Sloan offered too, and Jim and Don offered to take her out drinking until all hours of the night ("I know all the places that are open all night," Don had insisted. "That's the best part of living in New York, you don't have to go home if you don't want to"), but she had declined all offers. There was only one person whose company she wanted.

(She wonders if he's okay. She knows him well enough to know that he's not sleeping, and it makes her feel vaguely guilty about keeping him up the night before. But after she had admitted to knowing who the source was, he had tugged her to him, pressing a fierce kiss to her lips.

"Seriously, Mac, you can't tell anyone that," Will's voice had been low and firm and she knew that her knowing scared the shit out of him. He was willing to go down, but he was not willing to let her make the same sacrifice.

"I won't," she had promised, relenting with a sigh. He had kissed her again, desperately, his grip on her just shy of painful.

They had tumbled toward their mattress, tripping over things in the dark. After, as they lay with the limbs tangled together, Will left a trail of featherlight kisses along her arm draped over his body, and whispered that he loved her again and again into her skin, and she realized that he was putting up a good front, but that he was really fucking scared.)

She opens the bottle of whiskey, taking a long drink and sighing, resting her head against the wall. The worst part, she thinks, is not knowing how long it will be. Days, weeks, months, there's no way to know.

The whiskey burns going down, but it doesn't make her feel any better, so she caps the bottle and buries her head in her hands and weeps.

This was not how she imagined her wedding night to go. And she's proud of him, she's _so_ goddamn proud, but she's already missing him. She already aches for him, and she's not sure how she's supposed to do this. Part of her (she's not proud of this) wishes that he would just give up the source, because fuck Lily, _fuck_ her. She just wants Will home. She wants him home any way that she can get him. Because they're married, damn it, they're married and this is supposed to be a blissful fucking time. Mac's feeling a lot of things, but bliss is not one of them. And that's so unfair, so crazy, ridiculously unfair that it makes her want to scream. 

Mac doesn't know how long she sits there, crying into her hands, her new wedding ring creating an indent in her cheek, but finally she climbs onto shaky legs and makes her way through the dark apartment to her bed (their bed. Their shared bed. That they're supposed to share. Because Will is supposed to be  _here_. He's supposed to be here with her, and not in some small, cement room across the city). 

She'll finish the apartment, she thinks. She'll throw herself into renovation and into work, and he'll be home soon. He'll be home in no time and it'll be like it never happened. 

She doesn't believe that, not really, and she feels hopeless and lonely as she closes her eyes for the second time, burying her head in his pillow. 

This was not how her wedding night was supposed to go (but then when did anything ever go the way they planned?). And it takes a long time before she finally drifts back off to sleep.


End file.
